


Dear Naoto

by pheromones



Category: Persona 4, Persona Series
Genre: Body Image, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Mirror Sex, Voyeurism, kanji tatsumi: world star boyfriend, well not sex per say but whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:17:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pheromones/pseuds/pheromones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no shame in being a woman, just as there is no inherent weakness in femininity.    </p><p>This was something Kanji was all too happy to help Naoto accept.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On ne naît pas femme: on le devient.

_One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman._

**Simone de Beauvoir**  

* * *

~~_  
Dear Naoto_ ~~

~~_Dear Shirogane_ ~~

~~_Hey Naoto_ ~~

_Naoto,_

~~_Ever since we_ ~~

~~_I think you’re_ ~~

~~_I want to be_ ~~

_I like you. I always have. Please accept my feelings._

~~_Sincerely_ ~~

~~_Yours_ ~~

~~_Love_ ~~

_Kanji_

 

This was how it all started.

For once, what fell from her locker wasn’t fan mail addressed to the “Detective Prince”; those letters of polite confessions of admiration-usually accompanied with homemade chocolates and candies, neither of which Naoto particularly liked-written on the nicest of stationery paper and lovingly placed into an envelope. Sure, the stream of mail that would pour out onto the floor at the end of the day had shocked her at first, having neither expected nor believed that the truth behind the “Detective Prince” would be received so positively. It was incredibly humbling of course, but eventually the appeal of it wore off once she found herself having to wade through stacks of love letters to find her text books.

But this time was different. It wasn’t a letter really, but rather a piece of white lined paper stuck in the crevice of her locker door, slightly crumpled from being torn out of a standard composition notebook. She would have mistaken it for trash if her name-not “Detective Prince”-hadn’t been written on it.

Some of the sentences started and later abandoned were so heavily blacked out in ink that there were tiny tears in the paper. Such care had been taken into writing this, and yet it obviously never dawned on Kanji to use new sheets of paper, let alone something erasable.

With a few suspicious glances around her, the realization of the note set in. It was a confession of infatuation from _Kanji Tatsumi_. A good friend, yes, although he always seemed to act particularly weird in her company. At first she thought he didn’t like her, what with always seeming to avoid making eye contact and such. And yet as time passed, there had been moments between them where he had shown such genuine concern for her that it became obvious that her skills of observation were not as keen as she believed them to be.

 _This_ , however, was something new altogether.

On the walk from school, with Kanji’s note clutched tightly in her palm, she struggled to come to a logical conclusion. She had no reason to believe that Kanji was lying. He was certainly odd, scowling in class and yet able to successfully stumble through an entire sentence with the grace of a limp horse. Sure, he kept up the appearance of a common thug, but in reality, there was nothing malicious about him whatsoever.

It wasn’t that Naoto couldn’t believe he was attracted to her. It was that she couldn’t believe _why_.

Why her? Why not Rise, or Yukiko, or Chie?

While her gender was no longer a secret, Naoto was not in the least bit the conventional teenage girl. All the years spent under the guise of a boy had rendered her out of touch with her femininity, that concept that had prevented her from being seen as anything but a silly little girl playing Nancy Drew. Yes, she was a girl, and there was no weakness in that. She never minded being of the female sex in the first place, except for all of the sexist crap that came with it. And frankly, now that she no longer had to deny her true self, she really did want to embrace the part of her she had kept restrained for so long.

However, she still wore the boy’s uniform and kept her chest bound. As much as she wanted to be herself and not the “Detective Prince”, it seemed beyond her ability. She owned a few pretty skirts and dresses alongside her wardrobe of menswear, hoping to look like one of those tough female lawyers she saw on TV dramas. But when she looked at herself in the mirror, a wave of self-consciousness overcame her. Instead of the strong young woman she had hoped to see, she looked clownish.

She was making tiny steps of progress here and there, recently taking to mascara and buying (but never wearing) some cute new bras. Yet it always seemed to elude her, turning her efforts into foolish looking attempts that only paid off in a feeling of "why bother".

With her short hair, stubby, bitten fingernails and male attire, there was absolutely _nothing_ about her she believed would incite the attraction of the typical, hormonally overcharged teenage boy. Even if she did dress more like a girl, she'd never match up.

But then again, Kanji Tatsumi wasn’t the typical, hormonally overcharged teenage boy.

Him, the juvenile delinquent with a soft side, and her, the detective who posed as a boy.

When she returned home, Naoto poured herself a cup of tea and continued to reread Kanji’s note, by now looking worse for wear after being folded and unfolded multiple times on the walk from school.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, letting a foreign feeling she had only heard about in lunchtime gossip and girlish giggling sink into her stomach.

She could solve a cold case murder-suicide with less evidence that an entire (incompetent) police force.

But this, _this_ was something was something else altogether.

* * *

Had it not been for his mother _literally_ dragging him out of bed that morning, Kanji Tatsumi would have stayed home that day, that week, that month, that _year_.

Between repeatedly banging his forehead against his school desk, he tried to rationalize what had ever possessed him to accept Rise’s advice- let alone, why he had even opened his big mouth in the first place.

Two afternoons ago, Kanji had made the mistake of delivering an old swimsuit from Rise's idol days that she had dropped off at Tatsumi Textiles for a patch-up job. Actually, no. The _real_ mistake was letting Rise convince him to stay for some Marukyu curry tofu-on the house. And of course, as typically happens with Rise, she took the chance to goad him about Naoto. It hadn't taken much on her part, just offering a throw-away comment on how perfectly the swimsuit would look on Naoto.

She knew how to push his buttons. All she had to do was provide the image and watch Kanji get all flustered.

But the Freudian slip of the tongue that came out of Kanji's mouth in the moment of suggestively imaginative thought was too good _not_ to push further into.

Just _thinking_ about what he said made his blood change course.

Needless to say, handling peer pressure wasn’t one of Kanji’s strengths. And peer pressure courtesy of a teen idol was something Kanji buckled under faster than an actual kick to his shins. Soon enough, he was writing a love confession on a piece of scrap paper, Rise hanging over his shoulder, challenging himself with the bullshit reasoning that it was time to "be a man".

Rise kept his confidence boosted throughout the next school day, and when he finally slipped the notebook paper into the crevice of Naoto’s locker at the last bell, he could honestly say he felt good about it.

Cut to five minutes later on the walk back to Tatsumi Textiles when the temporary high wore off and he realized, “Holy shit, what have I _done_?”

As Rise had put it, “What’s the worse that can happen other than Naoto saying ‘no’?”

_But that was exactly what he was afraid of._

Out of breath from back tracking a five minute walk in under a minute, Kanji raced through the school to get to the lockers, silently praying that by some sort of miracle Naoto had been delayed from going home.

Those hopes were in vain. He thought he was going to vomit all over himself when he saw that the note was, of course, gone.

Why, _why_ had he listened to Rise?

Why couldn’t it have been Yu, or Chie, or even Yukiko?

On the bright side, it hadn’t been Yosuke. And thank God it hadn’t been _Teddie_.

For the remainder of the day, Kanji paced around his bedroom in a state of emotional panic until around three in the morning, exerting all of his mental energy on imagining worse case scenarios and lengthy excuses for a letter in his own handwriting. So really, the continued banging of his forehead against his desk was not merely self-punishment for his own stupidity, but to keep himself from falling asleep in class. After all, one more slip in school and he was in danger of being held back in freshman year.

By around the thirtieth meeting of his forehead to his desk, (and it was really starting to hurt), Kanji felt a presence standing in front of him that drove him to consider the likeliness of spontaneous combustion.

“Excuse me…Kanji, a-are you alright?”

He _really_ didn’t want to look up and see Naoto Shirogane standing over him, her cheeks slightly flushed and the brim of her hat pulled over her eyes. But with his neck creaking and the rush of blood throbbing in his head, Kanji couldn’t communicate with his body to do the opposite of what it was doing.

Had he not of been so wrapped up in self-fabricated anxiety, Kanji might have picked up on something _different_ about Naoto that morning. She was rarely anything but perfectly composed in presentation, always speaking coolly and thoughtfully even when it came to casual conversation with friends.

“Well, um...Tatsu- _Kanji_! I-I…” Naoto began to fumble for something in her front pocket, which Kanji couldn’t think was anything else but his stupid, dumb, _crappy love letter_. Despite the arsenal of (bad) excuses for it he had come up with to make the inevitable rejection hurt a little less, the fact that he was sure his soul was about to leave his body rendered his mouth useless in its slack gape.

“This is it,” Kanji thought, “this is how it’s going to end.”

Having been so ensnared in his conviction of rejection, it took him a second to notice that something was being thrust in his face.

And that thing wasn’t his love letter, but a plastic baggie filled with _animal crackers_.

“I remember you mentioning liking these,” Naoto muttered, pushing them into his hands. Stunned, Kanji carefully took the offering, noticing the twitch of her wrists and the redness of her palms. He fingered at the light blue bow tied around the bag, words dead on his tongue because there was no way this was happening but she hadn’t said “no” or “get lost” yet and she was _still_ _standing right there looking so cute blushing like that!_

When he looked back up at her, Naoto avoided his glance, turning away to cough into her sleeve. By God, even her coughs were cute. “You’re supposed to give a gift to reciprocate feelings, c-correct?”

Kanji could only dumbly nod, because oh, oh _fuck_ this was actually happening and it  _wasn't_ a dream this time.

“T-then meet me for lunch on the East stairwell and try not to be late.” With that, she hurried off to her usual seat in the back of the classroom, gait just slightly off as she maneuvered through other students.

While Kanji Tatsumi sat shocked and confused with a bag of animal crackers in his hands and Naoto Shirogane pulled the brim of her cap down even further past her eyes, Rise Kujikawa smirked as she completed typing out a text message.

_**To:** Chie (･｀ｪ´･)つ_

_U owe me 2 topsicles!!!! am i cupid or what?_

_**Attached Picture** : 2lovebirdsb4firstbell.jpg_

That was how it all began.

Needless to say, when Yosuke had finally gotten his hands on the picture of Naoto giving Kanji animal crackers-which he photoshopped glittering Cupids, hearts, and lips onto-the kick to the head Kanji gave him was enough to keep him on a steady dose of painkillers for the remainder of the week. Everyone was too happy for Kanji and Naoto to feel sorry for him.

* * *

The first date was…awkward.

And from that first date was where Kanji first sensed Naoto's "problem".

Kanji ended up dropping the bouquet of lilies he had bought in a drain puddle when he saw Naoto approaching him under the movie theater marquee: no hat; a billowy, floral skirt; a blouse with a navy blue cardigan; curled, mascara brushed lashes and pink cheeks.

Chest unbound.

There was no doubt he found her to look, well, just _wow_. Hell, she could showed up in a garbage bag and he would still have found her the cutest thing he had ever seen. But the thing was, he’d come fully prepared to go on a date with a Naoto in _menswear_ ; the usual Naoto.

After they made their plans for the first date, some of those old feelings of insecurity-of worrying what other people would think-crept into his head. He was different now, of course, and as quickly as those old woes had come, he’d said, “Fuck it!” because in the end, Naoto was Naoto regardless of how she presented herself. Hell, he was sure that he’d still have the same feelings for her even if she had actually been a guy. What others thought had no more weight on the pursuit of his happiness, and if people looked at them funny then to hell with them. As long as they didn’t fuck with him (or Naoto) then there was really nothing to care about outside of trying not to screw things up.

However, he hadn’t anticipated Naoto to go to Rise for advice. She was all too happy to help, dragging Naoto off to various stores for something more “feminine” looking than her navy blue peacoat and plaid slacks.

Naoto said it was because she wanted to dress in terms more “date acceptable”.

In reality, she didn’t want to embarrass Kanji.

They weren’t going to the movies as buddies. They were going on a date.

As difficult as it appeared to reclaim her lost femininity, perhaps taking the opportunity to completely immerse herself within it was the solution. Because wouldn’t Kanji feel more comfortable going on a date with someone who actually looked a _girl_?

But the process wasn’t bringing the desired outcome for her. As she stood in front of her mirror before leaving, Naoto had no doubt that she looked like a girl: pretty in the God-knows-how-expensive clothes Rise picked out for her, with chewed-up finger nails painted with a fresh coat of polish and a brush of silver eyeshadow. (She originally thought of doing more, but after successfully knocking the bottle of nail polish onto the white carpet of her bedroom, the idea was quickly shelved.) But as much as she wanted to believe herself confident enough to pull it all off, something lingered. That something was that shred of self-doubt, whispering in her ear about how people would stare at her for being a girl, whereas no one passed a glancing look-let alone a judgement-when she dressed like a boy.

While the two were in line at the concession stand, Kanji couldn’t help noticing the obvious discomfort. She pulled at pieces of her bangs, tugged at the sleeves of her cardigan, and blushed when she caught sight of her reflection in the glass of the popcorn maker. At first, Kanji suspected it to be the typical first date jitters. Hell, he had already succeeded in dropping a twenty dollar bouquet in a street puddle and had to spend a good five minutes dealing with the ensuing nose bleed that took place before they could go into the theater. But all the time spent with Personas and Shadows taught Kanji a thing or two about translating the atmosphere.

He noticed it especially when she tried to pull down the brim of her cap, only for her eyes to widen upon remembering she wasn’t wearing it.

Half-way through the movie, he discovered a penguin in his box of overpriced concession stand animal crackers. Without a word, he gave it to Naoto, who, knowing the high regard for penguin crackers Kanji held, quietly smiled to herself.

After the movie, which ran longer than expected and was mutually agreed to be mediocre at best, Kanji walked Naoto home.

It was after five minutes of uncomfortable silence on the trip that Kanji finally addressed the issue at hand. “Yunno, I wouldna’ cared if ya’ dressed like a guy.”

Naoto stopped in her new ballet flats. They’d been giving her ankles blisters all night. “Why do you say that?”

Kanji started nervously rubbing the back of his neck, a blush slowly spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “’Cuz ya’ look uncomfortable and it makes me feel pretty lousy,” he muttered, fisting his other hand into the pocket of his jacket as he sought a better direction to look in. “I like you for you. Ya’ don’t have to be anyone but yourself.”

Naoto glanced down at her fingernails, wondering what had ever possessed her to think nail polish would make them look _better_. “I thought this would be more to your contentment I suppose.”

He shrugged. “Well, I like you as a person. Boy, girl, whatever, it doesn’t matter, so…”

_It doesn’t matter._

Naoto let the words hang before her. At first she wanted to laugh, because to the rest of the world it _did_ matter. Before she began disguising herself as a boy, fellow detectives, police officers, lawyers, you name it, they never took her seriously.

_“Now why would a cute girl like you want to see those autopsy reports?”_

_“A crime scene is no place for a little girl. Why don’t I call your parents to pick you up?”_

_“This is a man’s club, kid. Go home and do your homework.”_

Although she carried legacy of the Shirogane name, to them she was just a silly little girl. But to Kanji, she was something more than that. Even when her friends believed her to be a boy, he had seen something within her that he wanted to latch onto.

Regardless of her struggles with femininity, in the end, none of it mattered to Kanji Tatsumi.

A few moments of shyness passed before the two both came to the realization that the scene called for their first kiss.

And Kanji thought that Naoto tasted sweeter than he had imagined.

And Naoto thought Kanji had soft lips for a guy.


	2. Une source de vie et pas de danger mortel.

_On the day when it will be possible for woman to love not in her weakness but in strength, not to escape herself but to find herself, not to abase herself but to assert herself -- on that day love will become for her, as for man, a source of life and not of mortal danger._

**Simone de Beauvoir**

* * *

 

Naoto laid her head on Kanji’s shoulder.

Kanji wrapped his arm tighter around her waist.

The two sat on his bed, snug and warm under the first quilt he had sewn back in the second grade, quietly watching the end of a movie they had seen countless times together. As per usual, Naoto had climbed her way through Kanji’s bedroom window for their Friday night movie date. Not that he minded, seeing as he didn’t want to set his mother off with having a girl over late at night. (He wasn’t ready to be _that_ open about his relationship). Plus he always got to brush out the leaves that got caught in Naoto’s hair. Really, for such a small, delicate looking girl, she could scale a tree surprisingly well.

It had been nearly two months since Kanji had stuck the note in her locker, and needless to say, things turned out better than initially expected. During the time since, the two had shared a variety of kisses and touches, both experiencing feelings that were both new and quite thrilling in the height of adolescence.

However, a degree of distance lingered between them. And there was no place it was more evident than in intimate situations.

Whenever the two of them decided to engage in more _sensual_ relations, it was during times like these: wrapped in each other’s comfort in the privacy of Kanji’s bedroom, little to no words exchanged, and sometimes the interruption of his mother getting up to go to the bathroom.  

But each time things went beyond heated kissing, Naoto insisted that the lights be turned off. Whenever he touched her, it was in the dark, fumbling over the fabric of her clothes and never the softness of her skin. He wanted to touch her without anything between them, wanted to cup her soft flesh in his palms and hold her warmth against his. He’d woken up from many a dream sticky and entangled in his bed sheets with the image of her sighing underneath him fresh in his mind. But in reality, she always shyed away.

Things had definitely changed about Naoto since they had first met. She smiled more, took the little things less seriously and with more ease. Most obvious, she no longer strove to hide who she really was: a strong, capable young woman. However-and to the rest of everyone’s notice-she still kept her chest bound. Not that it mattered how she chose to present herself. To Kanji, that was her personal business. He wouldn’t have questioned it in the first place if it weren’t for the times he would catch her cringe in the midst of moving. She seemed to do a good job of hiding the discomfort, but sometimes it would seep onto her face.

Moreover, whenever Kanji placed his hand against the middle of her back, or ran his fingers against her chest, she’d push him away with a wince.

She was still hiding something; holding back her true feelings.

And while he would _never_ pressure Naoto into anything she didn’t want to do, he couldn’t stop from suspecting that maybe she wasn’t _happy_ with him the way he was with her.

Frankly, that broke his heart.

Once again, as the last of the credits rolled off the screen, the two were thoroughly engaged in kissing each other, a form of affection they had each respectively mastered within the span of their romance. The first few times had been so chaste by comparison, only because Kanji would pull away from the rush of blood to his head it gave him. He’d learned better control by now, if only thanks to Naoto stepping up to take the lead whenever he’d shy away. But he’d become bolder and surer of himself, and at the current moment he slipped his callused hands around her hips to pull her into his lap.

But as Kanji made the move to unbutton Naoto’s blouse, someone turned the television off.

And he thought to himself, “This again, huh?”

The darkness. The blindness. The _frustration_.

Sighing against Naoto’s lips, he leaned over to his nightstand and flicked the lamp on. He knew fully well the response it would invoke. However, it was the only way to attain full confirmation of his lingering suspicions.

As light filtered into the room, Naoto stiffened in his arms. And when Kanji leaned into plant a trail of kisses across her exposed collarbone, she remained still.

“Kanji, turn the light off.”

While he felt his heart sink, he made no move to turn the light out.

Noticing the visible slump in Kanji’s shoulders, Naoto placed a hand on his bicep. “What’s troubling you?”

Kanji shook his head, dropping his hands away from her waist. “Why d’ya always want the lights off when we…” he turned away, voice sinking into a whisper, “do stuff?”

This was the first time he showed any hint of it bothering him. Up until now her request for darkness was granted without question, and never had he put up any resistance or suspicion.

Naoto swallowed. Kanji rarely talked about the physical aspect of their relationship, but when he did, she always feared it would veer towards discussing her difficulty with intimacy.  

“K-Kanji…well…you see…” God, how was she supposed to phrase it into coherent words? _I would very much enjoy engaging in sexual intimacy with you Kanji. However, I’m afraid I am utterly at a loss of how to be the lustful woman you would find pleasing due to being so unaware of my own body._ He was a wonderful boyfriend, and she had grown to admire him more deeply over the course of their relationship, but this was her deficiency. This was personal, something she could only figure out on her own, right?

While Naoto was focused on her own humiliation, Kanji had reached his own conclusions.

“I-it’s…it’s me isn’t it?”

As Kanji’s voice drifted back into Naoto’s conscious thought, she turned to look at him. Her heart sank for the expression of complete dejection on his face.

How selfish was she that she had never considered how her own immature self consciousness affected Kanji? Had she never actually considered his feelings? She knew, perhaps better than anyone, that his rugged appearance-the piercings, the tattoo, the curl of his lip-all of it was merely presentation. Underneath, there was a sensitive young man who no longer felt he was obligated to prove anything to anyone. Kanji had always shown her the gentlest side of himself, both physically-in part due to towering over her-and emotionally. He had become so open with her, so honest, and she continued to keep things wrapped up inside?

He was always so selfless when it came to her.

She had to make a change.

Shaking her head, she took a hold of Kanji’s hands, so laughably large compared to her small, feminine ones. “No! Absolutely not! It’s…it’s me,” she breathed. “The problem in this situation is _me_.”

At the sudden change of tone in Naoto’s voice, Kanji felt a pang of worry strike through his chest. He leaned in close, turning her hands in his before giving them a gentle squeeze. “What’s the matter?”

Yes, _honesty_. Kanji was more than deserving of that.

Naoto’s glanced down at their entangled hands. God, she couldn’t believe she was actually going to say it outloud. “I’m…” Spit it out. Get on with it. “Rather taken aback by the feminine aspects of my body. I don’t think I can express myself like that.”

“Ya’ mean you’re like, self conscious about yourself?” he asked, cocking a brow.

Naoto nodded, the shame of it creeping up her spine. How could she have allowed her own insecurities to progress this far? Didn’t she realize she didn’t have to prove herself to anyone, regardless of her gender? Then why was had she allowed this to completely take over her life?

To her humiliation, as she really wanted nothing more than to gather what remained of her pride and jump out of the window, Kanji continued his questioning. “Not that it matters, but I thought ya’ accepted bein’ a girl?”

She reeled back up, voice adopting a bitter tone. “I have! However it’s not that simple!”

Kanji winced. “Then what’s the matter?”

Sighing, Naoto pulled her lip between her teeth. This problem really _did_ have a hold on her. “It’s just so foreign…I masqueraded as a boy for so long that I never had the opportunity to embrace myself. I’m intimidated by my own femininity because I have been so unaware of it. I have about as much awareness of my own body as you do,” she muttered, giving another light squeeze to Kanji’s hands. “I apologize. It’s such a silly and petty thing for me to be so caught up in, and I let it affect our relationship.”

“No, no, no!” Kanji said, pulling her to his chest in a soft embrace. “Don’t ya’ dare say you’re sorry. Ya’ got nothin’ to be sorry for.”  

At first, Naoto shuddered in his hold. Yet as he began to slowly rock her back and forth, she felt herself relax. “I want to embrace the feminine side of myself. But I’ve denied it for so long that it seems so intimidating to become…” Kanji heard the sound of a gulp in Naoto’s throat. “I-intimate with them.”

With that, Kanji fully understood what she was trying to tell him. It was a matter of Naoto being afraid of what would happen if she were to allow herself to be a woman. The unknown, what she once thought was a weakness, frightened her. That was why she still bound her chest, even though it visibly hurt her. Not because she wanted to be a boy, but because she didn’t know _how_ to let herself be who she was. She didn’t know how to take control of her life without relying on the fractions of what she wasn’t, what she learned she didn’t have to be. She didn’t know how to be herself because she had lived under the guise of another for so long. On their first date to the movies, when she wore all of the clothes Rise had picked out for her she was uncomfortable because she had tried to do it all at once.She overwhelmed herself by going about it alone.

That’s when a thought struck Kanji. At first, he pushed, no, _shoved_ it away. But it continued to swirl around his mind, growing and growing more explicit with his imagination. No matter how hard he tried to focus on something else, the idea wouldn’t leave.

Then, he began to reason with it. Perhaps it wasn’t so unthinkable? After all, he and Naoto were in a romantic relationship. And to his knowledge she did want to go farther with him than just kisses and touching above their clothes.

So just as Naoto had done, Kanji swallowed his pride. “What if…what if I help ya’?

“Helped me?” Naoto questioned.

Kanji rubbed at the back of his neck, his eyes diverting every which way but towards his girlfriend. “Suppose I-and you can say no or whatever!-but what if I helped show ya’ how beautiful those parts of ya’ are, helped ya’ face ‘em,” he gulped. “Man, I ain’t makin’ any sense. Just forget I said anything.”

But Naoto couldn’t pretend, because she had listened so closely. Despite the nerves that quelled in her stomach when the prospect of engaging in sexual behavior with Kanji came about, the warm desire for that sort of contact ached throughout her body. If it weren’t for her own self consciousness, she would be more than willing to express her love to him through sexual means. Those teenage hormones were never satisfied.

And so she said something very un-Naoto like; “Okay. Right now then, help me now.”

“N-now?...H-help…help ya’…r-really?...Huh?” Kanji spluttered.

Naoto pulled her hands away, wringing them together in her lap without so much as a glance at him. “If you truly believe it will help, then yes, what better time than now?”

Now, the problem with harboring such a passionate crush on Naoto for so long was that Kanji had built up a rather _impressive_ repertoire of seemingly impossible fantasies and desires. Why that stood to be problem at the moment was that they were all shoving their way to the front of his brain, challenging him with the now great possibility that they could all become real in the immediate future.

And Naoto was _giving_ him the okay.

So there sat Kanji Tatsumi, mind reeling and heat choking him around the neck like the nooses of gallows.

Then, he silently got off the bed and made his way over to his oak wood desk, where his sewing machine and threads all sat. As he pulled out the chair, Naoto noticed a few half finished projects he must have been working on before she climbed in through the window. From what she could make out they appeared to be miniature teddy bears, no bigger than her palm and far too small for the help of the sewing machine. They required careful fingers to handle a needle and thread. Despite the sheer size of his hands, she knew nothing but gentle touches from them. Kanji’s hands and fingers always moved against her with the same concentration they did with a needle and thread. Those hands, that when curled up into fists could easily snaps bones and twist ligaments, would gently massage her shoulders after a stressful day, tuck loose strands of hair out of her eyes, and cautiously outline the curves of her hips whenever she found herself in his lap.

Those hands were now placing his desk chair to face his closet door.

Naoto looked on. “K-Kanji…?”

He didn’t respond. Rather, he opened his closet to reveal a full length mirror hanging on the back of the door. And in its reflection, Naoto caught sight of the nervous blush overwhelming his face.

That and the expression of determination in his eyes.

If she looked hard enough, she also would have seen the small movements of Kanji’s lips, mouthing words of self motivation to himself in a careful whisper; “She needs ya’ right now Tatsumi. Don’t pussy out. Don’t pussy out.”

Although she had been watching, Naoto still wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. “I don’t understand,” she spoke, a little more forcefully than before. “What are you doin-?”

“Just come over here,” Kanji finally said, sitting himself down in the chair with hands clenched tight around his knees.

Naoto’s heart rammed against the inside of her chest as she made her way across the room. She knew he would never do anything to hurt her, of course. But he’d never come across to her like this. Beforehand, she’d always taken the lead, guiding him through a kiss or taking his hand when they walked together in public.

He  _did_ say he was going to help her though...

Kanji rubbed his sweating palms over the tops of his thighs once Naoto was standing before him, loudly gulping as he tried to take his mind off the tightness in his jeans. He cleared his throat before motioning for her to come closer.

_You can do this Tatsumi. You’re a man. You’re here for her._

Naoto’s eyes went wide as she felt large hands pulling her in by the waist. The next thing she comprehended was being seated on Kanji’s lap, staring at her own surprised reflection in the closet mirror

Whatever words she planned to say were instantly lost as she felt Kanji’s lips press against the side of her neck, kissing as far as he could underneath her shirt collar. “You’re beautiful.” Fingers began to thread through her hair, pleasantly massaging her scalp. She let herself lean into his hand, and combined with those gentle kisses, Naoto felt whatever tension that had her paralyzed melt down her spine. “No matter how ya’ look, you’ll always be beautiful. You were beautiful when I met you and you’re gonna get more beautiful everyday! All I want is for you to believe that for yourself, no matter how you think you’ll look, ‘kay?”

Naoto’s first instinct was to shake her head and say, “No. There are people out there far more beautiful than I could ever be.” But with Kanji pressing his lips against the hollow of her collarbone like that, making her go all limp and mushy in his arms, she couldn’t find the voice to protest.

And Kanji had never once lied to her.  

So when Kanji softly whispered into her ear, “Please…lemme’ show you beautiful you are,” she chose to believe him.

No matter what.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for some clarification here folks, because I'm not sure if I made it clear enough in the story itself, but Naoto is a cisgender woman. 
> 
> In the context of Japanese culture in Persona 4, Naoto's relationship with her gender is not one of trans identity but rather a protest against the rigid gender roles of Japanese society that held her back from being a detective due to being female. Naoto equated femininity and being a woman as a weakness in a male dominated career path, and therefore felt that if she disguised herself as a boy, then she would be taken more seriously, despite her age. 
> 
> Now I have absolutely no issue with anyone who headcanons or interprets Naoto as trans! Frankly, Naoto (as does Kanji) brings up a great discussion of gender and gender roles, and trans people are ill-represented in media as it is. I'd love to write a trans Naoto one day, hopefully when I feel confident enough to feel I could present it as accurately and wonderfully as possible (I'm cisgender myself, so I'll never be able to encapsulate that experience first hand). 
> 
> In this particular story, Naoto is trying to grapple with femininity and the female identity she had always seen beforehand as being a weakness against her. She's still afraid to be her true self without relying on components of the male guise (such as keeping her chest bound for a short while before the end of the game, particularly the end of P4G, where we see her presenting as more feminine). I wanted to examine that transition for her in the context of a relationship with Kanji, who I think understands her best out of everyone. (Also because they're cute as hell). 
> 
> In terms of my interpretations and how they display themselves in this particular story, I envision Naoto as having an androgynous gender expression. She doesn't care for aligning herself strictly into either category. I think of her like Franky from Skins and Haruhi from Ouran. 
> 
> Also, I headcanon Kanji as pansexual. 
> 
> Kanji's my son. 
> 
> Protect him at all costs.
> 
> Anyways the comments on this post express a lot of what I'm getting at in terms of Naoto's gender identity: http://toganou.tumblr.com/post/77632663635/hisanakagami-hisanakagami


	3. Le corps

_To lose confidence in one’s body is to lose confidence in oneself._

**Simone de Beauvoir**

* * *

 

Kanji Tatsumi was a pretty intimidating guy.

Even after word finally got out that he liked to sew clothes and make cute little patchwork toys, kids still gave him a wide girth of room whenever he walked through the halls at school. Standing over 183 cm tall at barely sixteen had that sort of an effect on people. The piercings and tattoo didn’t do much to put people at ease either.

But it had all started as just an elaborate front, one meant to deceive and hide behind in order to throw people off. Adolescence was the time for trying on different identities, seeing which ones fit the best for each respective person before they graduated into adulthood. But for Kanji, the label of “troublemaker” and “juvenile delinquent” was not reflective so much as _deflective_. Society told him that real men didn’t use their fingers, but their fists.

Boys didn’t sew because sewing was for _girls_. Boys got dirty and scraped their kneecaps without shedding a tear, because showing any sort of emotion other than aggression was for sissies.  

If it wasn’t “be a man,” then it was “don’t be such a girl”.  

And as he grew into his teens, any display of anything but absolute masculinity meant you were a fag. He’d first heard the word in secondary school after seeing one of his classmates getting pushed around by a gang of older kids. Mildly curious, he looked up the word on the internet at home, only to be met with a mix of horror and confusion, because guys didn’t _like_ other guys like that, right? Although an exact understanding still eluded him in his youth, he nonetheless knew it wasn’t a good thing to be called a “fag”.

In his own comprehension, a “fag” was an advanced form of a “sissy”, a boy who was so unmasculine that he had devolved into liking other boys as if he were a _girl_.

A few days later, Kanji pierced his own ear with one of his sewing needles and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. It hurt like nothing he’d ever felt before, but he’d be damned if he was going to let the pain force tears from his eyes.

Kanji didn’t like having to feel that there was something wrong with him for having certain interests. He made up for that shame by becoming a brute: getting into fights at school, staying out late, sneering at anyone who so much as looked at him funny.  

For the longest time, he used his appearance to keep people at arm’s length.

Then things had changed, and in the _weirdest way possible_. But that was another, rather unbelievable story altogether.

In the end, he’d made friends who knew and accepted who he _really_ was, as supposedly “unmasculine” as his interests were. And through it all, he’d somehow fallen in love as well.

A teenage detective told him that he was “incredibly intriguing”. That had unhinged Kanji for quite some time afterwards, reviving all of his pre-adolescent fears of “fags” and “sissies”. He suffered from a few sleepless nights thereafter, which was probably one of reasons why he’d allowed himself to be kidnapped in the first place.

It was funny though. Just as he had come to reason with the possibility that he found something in the famed “Detective Prince” that made his knees quiver and his palms sweat, it turned out that _he_  was actually a _she_.

Naoto Shirogane used appearances to deflect the threat of rejection, just as he had done.

Kanji’s first thoughts weren’t so much relief that his panic had been “supposed” paranoia, but the realization that there was a silent kinship between them, because they were the same. And before he knew it, what had started out as a confusing crush bloomed into something warmer and deeper, penetrating his thoughts when he was alone in bed and making his chest feel tight and surprisingly nice all at once.

Naoto Shirogane was one of the best things that had ever happened to him, and now that she was seated on his lap, back flush against his chest as he held her by the waist, he knew he needed to make that sentiment clear.

As she nodded her head in consent, he brought his hands to the top button of her blouse. They hovered there for a moment, slightly shaking at the wrists as he moved his mouth against her ear. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna take your shirt off,” he breathed. “J-just tell me if you wanna stop and I will, ‘kay?”   

Naoto swallowed. “I will,” she said, staring at her reflection in Kanji’s mirror, by now vaguely aware of what he intended to do and how it made something within herself flare up alongside her frayed nerves.

Pressing a kiss to the corner of her jaw, Kanji began working his way down her shirt. At first, he struggled to slip the buttons from their slits, hands trembling too much for his fingertips to work properly until Naoto brought her hands to his wrists.

Nothing was said until she slipped the garment from her shoulders, revealing the bare skin of her stomach and the layer of bandages wrapped around her chest.

“I’m sure you expected something more...uh...cuter.” Naoto blushed, glancing off the the side as she threw her blouse towards Kanji’s bed. It missed.

Kanji stared into the mirror. He’d always suspected that she had been binding her chest tighter than necessary, but he hadn’t been prepared to actually see the evidence. The edges of the bindings were digging into her flesh, turning it an irritable looking shade of red like the way skin looks after a band-aid is ripped off. But even worse than that was the faint discoloration of healing bruises along her rib cage, of which he suspected there were plenty more of underneath the bindings.

“No...Naoto…” God, how did she even manage to move all constricted like _this_? “Are you...are you comfortable like this?”

She snuck a look towards the mirror. Kanji was grimacing at her chest. “Well, I’ve gotten so used to it by now that it’s really-”

“But it’s hurting you!”

She flinched. Kanji had never raised his voice to her before. And while it wasn’t in a tone of anger, she couldn’t hold back a physical response.

Of course, Kanji felt bad about it before the words had left his mouth, even more so when he felt her stiffen against his chest. “I-I’m sorry…” he sighed, gently rubbing his hand across her arm in apology, “it’s just...why are you still doing this? There’s no way this is comfortable for ya’, ya’ know?”

Naoto bit her lip. He was right, of course. When she first began posing as a boy, her chest had been flat enough to pass without too much effort. But by the time she turned thirteen- as if overnight- she suddenly had _breasts_ in the way. Her grandfather had tried to help, doing as much as an old man with such little understanding could by buying her some simple bras for support. But they just kept getting bigger and _bigger_. She’d found some medical bandages in a first aid kit in the bathroom, figured it would do the job, and from there it just became a part of her routine.

It had never been comfortable whatsoever, and taking them off at the end of the day was always a relief. She hated doing it, but what else was she going to do? She’d seen the way law enforcement worked with women, both victims and those that were supposed to be their equivalents in rank. It was always, “Maybe if you wore something a little less provocative, that wouldn’t happen” or “That’s rather distracting for the workplace,” even if the woman was dressed as conservatively as possible.

Naoto wasn’t going to let herself be subjected to that. This was what she reminded herself of each time she had to pull the bindings a little tighter than before.

Watching as she brought a hand to her underarm, Naoto sighed. “I don’t want to be stared at...One day they simply showed up and I didn’t know what to do with them because they would blow my cover but they were _me_ , and now I’m _still_ afraid of not being taken seriously and I don’t know what to do with them!” Oh God, she was rambling and was it just her imagination or was Kanji _sweating_?

Understandably, all her talk about her own breasts was making his skin feel a little too hot for his own comfort. However, seeing as Naoto was on the verge of a complete panic attack, he willed himself to keep control over _certain_ places that were threatening to draw unwanted attention to themselves and get a fucking grip.

Burying his blushing face into her shoulder, Kanji hugged her around the waist, slowly rocking back and forth. “I-I just want ya’ to be comfortable Naoto,” he muffled against her skin, “and if people don’t respect ya’ for how ya’ look, then fuck ‘em! But don’t dress for anybody but yourself, cause you come first, alright?”

Naoto smiled. Kanji was smarter than he gave himself credit for, though he himself would _never_ believe it. (He was too humble for his own good, especially when it came to her, the girl he admitted he thought was still “way outta my league”.) Sinking into the warmth of his chest, she said, “Then you don’t mind holding my hand through it?”

She felt him shake his head. “Not at all.” There was a swallowing sound, and then she saw Kanji peep up from her neck. “Will ya please lemme look then?” He said it in the most bashful of ways, as if he were a small child hiding behind his mother’s skirts.  

Taking a deep breath, (as deep as she could with the bindings still on, that is), Naoto guided Kanji’s hands to her armpit, where the knot that kept the bindings tied together sat. “Okay then.”

As with the buttons of her blouse, Naoto had to help Kanji undo the knot thanks to the tremor in his hands. It didn’t help that he practically quaked everytime he brushed his knuckles against her skin. (God, she was so soft. Why was she so soft?)

They worked as one unwrapping. The incredible intimacy of it all was too much for one of them to handle alone, and so with the shyest of touches, Naoto took over the front while Kanji took to the back so that neither had to stretch too much or risk knocking an elbow into the other’s face.

But while Naoto took to looking at the coiling of bandages accumulating onto the floor, Kanji watched as every sliver of skin was revealed. And, just as he had suspected, there was darker bruising hidden along the sides of her ribs. It was nowhere as bad as it could have been, thankfully, but it nonetheless hurt to see. For the most part the skin just appeared a bit pink, probably felt tender after being bound up for hours on end.

When the air finally hit her breasts, Naoto shivered, squeezing her arms into her sides. She felt all squirmy and restless, wanting to coil up into a ball and make herself as tiny as possible. But that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

Because she could hear Kanji panting and feel the pounding of his heart against her back.

She let out a shaky breath. She wanted to say something, but her lips felt dry and her tongue was like lead in her mouth. She would have to look at herself at some point, sit up straight and admit to herself that _this_ was who she was, take it or leave it. And yet that feeling of self-consciousness lingered in the pit of her stomach, keeping her sight trained on the floor for what felt like so, so long.

And then, she felt something press itself into her shoulder blade.

A kiss.

It was followed by another along her spine.

Then another onto the opposite shoulder blade.

Soon, Kanji’s palms were flush against her arms, urging her to relax her muscles and sit back up. “Please Naoto,” he muffled against her back, “I-I w-want you t-to...I want you to look at how beautiful you are!”

She had chosen to trust Kanji. She had placed her heart in his care, knowing full well the kindness and dedication he would put into it.

She sat up.

Now, Kanji had already been roughly aware of what Naoto looked like without her bindings on. While they weren’t as “voluptuous” as Rise and Teddie and had originally led him to believe, they were by no means small. Out of all the girls in their group, he could safely say that hers were on the _larger_ side. When they had gone on their first date, he was dumbstruck by how Naoto had been able to hide them so well in the first place.

But seeing her now compared to then was something completely different.

As Naoto slowly sat up, Kanji felt his entire body flush.

God, she was so friggin _cute_. Even though the skin of her breasts was tinged a shade of pink and marked with the impression of bandages, he thought they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. They were a handful, round and perky and so damn _soft looking_. Her nipples, her cute little pink nipples, were pert and stiff from the air, and he just wanted to touch them. He’d flipped through a few issues of his mother’s magazines, (It was for a good cause, as awkward as it was), and read some information in a section called “Sex + Love” about how girls liked having their nipples rubbed because it felt good for them because they were sensitive. He’d taken notes for future reference, even practiced doing it on himself, which didn’t really do much for him.

But this was about _her_.

When Naoto finally looked at her reflection, the noise her breath made as it passed between her lips was enough to make him moan. Her eyes went big and round, mouth parted as a blush spread along her cheeks and to the tips of her ears.

She looked so... _different_ : topless, breasts heaving with every deep breath, expression almost lewd. But it didn’t feel as awkward as she believed it would. Something akin to admiration was beginning to creep up her spine. This wasn’t the same as all of the other times she had looked at herself like this in mirrors; there was no frustration, and she certainly hadn’t been sitting in someone’s _lap_.

Said someone now had his hands mere inches from her breasts.

“N-Naoto,” Kanji sighed, the stiffness between his legs now more attentive to itself than it had been a moment before, “c-can I touch ‘em?”

At first, Kanji was afraid he’d been too direct. He shied away instantly, nervously looking about his room while he tried to think of unsexy things like Yukiko and Chie’s cooking and one of those shock viral videos that Yosuke made him watch that gave him nausea for hours afterwards. “If you don’t want me to then that’s fine too! Remember how I told ya’ to just say the word when it gets weird and I’ll back off, cause don’t feel like ya’ can’t, yeah? This is about you and ya’ need to be comfortable cause you’re really friggin cute Naoto and I wasn’t starin’ at ‘em!”

Just as his voice had veered into a pitch that made it crack, he felt his hands being pushed into soft, warm, _flesh_.

When he looked down, he saw that he was, in fact, grabbing handfuls of Naoto’s _breasts_.

He wasn’t entirely sure what the noise he made sounded like, but it certainly wasn’t sexy.

But Naoto had _moaned_ , feeling the calluses of Kanji’s palms flush against her sensitive skin and the warmth that passed between them was something indescribable, but she instantly knew she liked it.

Then his hands began to knead her breasts. Gently, of course, but with enough concentration to indicate that Kanji was trying to rub the soreness away.

That wasn’t the only thing she felt though.

Besides the sensation of pressure starting to build up between her legs, she was sitting on something _stiff_. She knew what it was, of course, she wasn’t naive. And as she watched Kanji’s hands pull her breasts apart, the feeling and sight of it made her grind down into his lap.

“N-Naoto!” he yelped, accidentally squeezing her nipples between his fingers that made her grab at handfuls of his pants.

“S-sorry! I’m sorry!” she squeaked. “I didn’t...um...oh dear…”

But Kanji shook his head. “It’s fine! It’s fine!”

“Are you sure? Because we could mo-”

“No no no!” Kanji spluttered. Honestly, if Naoto moved to get off of him, he probably wouldn’t be able to control it, even if he was trying to think about that video with the guy and the _glass cup_. Not to mention he’d purposely placed them in front of his closet mirror for a _reason_. “It’s all good! Just...woah…”

“Woah” was right.

Naoto narrowed her eyes at their reflection. Pieces of her hair were either sticking to the sides of her face or standing straight up and out as if someone had run their hands through it. By no means did she look put together, but it was real. This was a part that had always resided inside of her, and it was such a strange relief to let it out.

She caught Kanji’s glance, to which he looked away from a few times before finally settling on her, hands still full with her breasts of course. “Hey...I uh...I gotta question…”

Naoto relaxed her grip on his pants. “Alright.”

“H-have you...fuck...h-have you ever…?” Really, there was no reason he could think of why he was even attempting to ask. His head felt all foggy and light, as if he was drunk. The downside was that words were even more difficult to form than before.

Just as Kanji was about to say “forget it”, he heard Naoto go, “Touch myself?”

Really, how he hadn’t managed to self-destruct up to this moment was beyond impressive, but _holy shit_.

“N-no! I mean yes! I mean... _yeah_...that’s what I was gonna ask- but I didn’t ask cause I think it’s _weird_ or anything! I mean I do it all the time and I read that it’s actually real healthy for girls to do too so it’s not somethin’ to get embarrassed about! But if ya’ _don’t_ then that’s fine too!” Wait, what was he going on about again- _oh_. “...Shit! Sorry! I just...I just…”

“Kanji!”

“What?”

By this point, Naoto had turned to look at him directly. “What are you really trying to ask me?”

Criminy, she was perceptive.

“I uh...well…” Kanji swallowed. He’d dug his hole deep enough already. Might as well keep going, neves and temporary loss of language comprehension be damned. “ _caniwatchyoutouchyourselfandmaybehelp_?”

Either that was the world’s weirdest sounding cough or Kanji had just asked her what she _thinks_ he just asked.

The warm pressure between her legs suddenly felt more urgent than it did before, if that was even possible. “In any other situation,” she thought, “this wouldn’t feel right.” Hell, this entire thing was probably going to be something Kanji would be completely mortified by come tomorrow.

But hadn’t he offered his help in the first place?

And hadn’t she accepted it?

And wasn’t this something that always lingered at the back of her mind when she was alone, caught adrift in thought?

Naoto cupped the back of Kanji’s neck, fingering the fine hairs at his nape before pulling him down to meet her face.

One of the many things Kanji really liked about Naoto was how _incredibly_ she kissed. The first time, whilst standing in the cool Inaba night air as she wore those flats she’d said she was going to burn the second she got home, she told him that she had never kissed anyone before. He supposed it was just a matter of natural talent: the way she’d lightly nibble on his bottom lip and curl her tongue around his like she was trying to pass along some secret.

She kissed the way she fought; with determination and grace.

This time, her kiss was chaste, gentle, a reminder that they were in this _together_ , as awkward as it may be in the moment. Her face remained close to his, glancing up at him through half-lidded eyes.

It was as good of a “yes” as she was ever going to give him.

The next thing he knew, they were working together to slip her pants off. He caught Naoto giving a few curious looks into the mirror, watching their tangled hands pulling at the button and zipper and it made Kanji ache something terrible because this was the part where he’d normally wake up in a coat of sweat and cursing himself because _dammit he’d just washed these sheets_!

Time jumped and when he looked back into the mirror, there she was, leaning just the slightest bit forward in a way that made her breasts look even more shapely, lip sucked between her teeth and thighs clenched, but not quite able to look at herself just yet.

He wanted her to enjoy this; to enjoy _herself_ the way he does.

He brought a hand to her chin. “H-hey...look...you’re wonderful.”

Naoto didn't realize she had her eyes clenched shut, but when she felt soft fingers against her jaw and a hand caressing her breast she remembered that the only worries she had were the ones she'd been forcing upon herself for the longest of times.

She relaxed everything and let herself feel rather than think. It was a bit embarrassing at first; had she always been able to look like this? But it wasn't so bad as she had thought. In fact, she liked it.

This was her. This had  _always_ been her.

She just needed a little push to see things for what they really are.

“D-don’t laugh…” she muttered, bringing a hand past her stomach to the trim patch of hair between her thighs.

Laughing was the furthest thing from Kanji’s mind as she slowly parted her legs and God, if it wasn't the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. He could now confidently say that _everything_ about Naoto was cute.

It was pink and soft and so different looking than anything he’d seen before, pouting at him through the strip of downy hair resting above the apex. He brushed through the hair first. “It’s soft.” He couldn't help but say it aloud, because it really was nice. Not like his, which got all wiry and itchy if he didn't keep it neat the way she obviously did.  

When he finally brought his fingers to touch her between the folds, watching as he went, it was all warm and slick and it made her grind against him again.

“Oh wow...oh wow,” he breathed against her neck, “that’s _beautiful_.”

Naoto focused into the mirror. She’d only ever looked at this part of herself when it was absolutely necessary: keeping her pubic hair trim and during periods and whatnot. For all she had known before, her vagina was just this _thing_ that she had to deal with. She’d never paid it too much attention except when she was stressed and found that if she rubbed herself there just _right_ it released a giant tension she hadn’t known she was holding.

She held herself open for him, somewhat aghast as she both felt and saw his fingers explore her, making her pant along with the way he was rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

She couldn't hold herself back from bucking into the feeling, rutting against the stiffness of Kanji’s clothed member and entranced with watching herself.

And then he brushed his fingers along a small nub- the name of which escaped him at the moment, he’d fallen asleep in biology that day- and she _moaned_.

“Ahhhhhh…” She held his hand there, right on the locus of all of that warm pressure that had been building up all night. “L-like that...rub, just _rub_.”

So he did, and he really should've known the name of this part of her because apparently it was _really_ important if it made her like this. He kissed down her neck as he let her guide his fingers in a clockwise motion, lingering on the marks of her bindings longer than elsewhere. She was wet against his palm, and he could feel the flesh pulse with each stroke.

The entire time, Kanji’s own satisfaction was merely a side-thought. He was too entranced by their reflections in the mirror because Naoto’s finally looking at herself the way he did, with equal parts admiration and intrigue.  

Besides, the way she dug her hips down into his lap was  _more than enough_ for him.

“K-Kanji...I... _God_ …”

The insides of her thighs were getting all slick, her wetness seeping into the fabric of his pajama pants. And Kanji’s hands felt so good touching her between her legs and on her sore breasts, the way scratching at an itch was so satisfying after holding back for so long.

Pressure built in a steady rhythm, marked by gasps of breath and the smack of lips and tongue against skin, all the while Kanji repeated, “You’re beautiful, _you’re beautiful_.”

Soon there’s sweat beading down both of their temples and Naoto heard the way Kanji’s fingers made squealing sounds as they trace around her hole, thumb still keeping steady pressure on her clit. She keened into him, back arching because even just that one finger shallowly penetrating her felt like so much all at once.

Naoto reached the peak with a strangled gasp, thighs shaking and body quaking through a release that took the breath right out of her.

Thank God Mrs. Tatsumi slept like the dead.

While the build up of it didn’t last long- though understandably, they’d been on edge the entire night- her orgasm felt up in the air, slowly taking its time to bring her back down.

Kanji held her down through it all.

When the world finally steadied, Naoto felt so incredibly warm and exhausted that she curled into Kanji’s chest and triec to remember what breathing entails.

A hand threaded through her hair, and Kanji’s shaking voice asked, “D-did ya’ just…?”

Apparently so. She had no complaints.

She hummed in confirmation, nodding because moving her mouth seemed like too much effort at the moment.  

Kanji rubbed at her back. “O-oh! Uh...th-that’s great!” He sounded genuinely happy. He was thrilled, actually, although offering a congratulations at the moment would be in poor taste. It did give a new boost to his confidence though, not that he’d ever share that information with anyone.

As happy as he was- and really, he could think of nothing better to do than to sit here together like this- there was something he needed to _attend_ to. “But...we really oughta get up now…”

Naoto looked up at him, brow arched in question.

Yeah, girls don’t have this problem, _did they_?

“I uh…” He sheepishly nodded towards his lap.

It took a second to realize, but when Naoto thought about it, it was a bit more comfortable sitting in Kanji’s lap than it was before.

And a bit _damper_ than it had been before.

“Yes! R-right,” she finally responded, moving to get off. He must have gotten too excited. Eventually he’d admit to her that it was being able to pleasure her like that that had sent him over the edge with her, but for now she just vaguely wondered if she had been the one to do that to him.

Naoto slid from his lap, slipping past his arms to make a beeline for the bed. “I’ll just- oh!”

She’s unsteady on her feet the moment she stands, wavering this way and that before the joints of her knees simply gave out under her weight. It took more out of her than she thought.  

Thankfully, Kanji was quick to grab her around the waist before she could meet the floor. “Hey, hey! Watch it!” He steadied her with a hand along her lower back as he moved to stand up himself. “Don’t get up so fast like that!”

“S-sorry! I thought I could stand,” Naoto mutterd, hands tugging at Kanji’s shirt to maintain upper-body balance. Really, she felt spineless.

Kanji shook his head before reaching down to slip an arm under her knees, pulling her into a princess carry as he walked her back over to his bed. “Alright?”

She hummed. “I’m fine...wonderful, actually.”

A sleepy smile came to her face as he deposited her into his rumbled bedsheets. He figured that there’s simply no way Naoto was going to be able to walk home tonight, let alone make it through his bedroom door with a gait like a newborn colt’s. He took a quick look around his room, towards the pile of bindings in a dead heap by his desk chair, Naoto’s clothes strewn about in places he couldn't remember throwing them. It wasn't too much to deal with, and it _was_ a Friday night afterall. His mother took to doing errands on Saturday mornings, so he wouldn't be running a risk with having Naoto sleep over. But even after everything that just happened, he still felt bashful for asking. “Ya’ wanna stay here tonight? I got some clothes I can lend ya’ to sleep in...”

Naoto pulled the quilt they’d been snuggling in earlier up past her shoulders. She didn't even want to bother with putting clothes on when her body still felt so hot. “I’m actually fine like this,” she said in the smallest of voices. “But if it isn’t too much of an inconvenience, I’d like to stay.”

Oh God. Kanji didn't know what got to him first: the thought of Naoto sleeping naked in his bed or the thought of actually waking up to Naoto naked in his bed. They both sounded fantastic.

(There was always another night to see Naoto in his too-big-for-her clothes anyways.)

But he was too spent to get over excited at the moment. He was exhausted and that sticky wetness was going to dry into a stain if he didn't take care of it soon.

“S-sure! No problem!” He realized he’s probably never going to get any sleep with Naoto here. If it wasn't the awareness that he has a naked girl in his bed then it’d be the fear of rolling over her in his sleep. That’d be a shitty way to end things.

First things first though; he needed to put on a pair of fresh boxers. Preferably dark ones, should anything else happen.

However, just as he was about to make his way to the bathroom to clean up, a hand took his wrist.

“Wait.”

Kanji flustered. For someone who couldn’t even walk the four feet from his closet to his bed, she did a decent job sitting up on her elbow. Nevermind that his quilt had slipped off her shoulders, effectively exposing a breast. Though in the context of it all, he supposed that’s a good thing- her not trying to hide herself, that is.

For some reason- wonder why?- his throat felt too dry to speak. He managed to nod, albeit dumbly because he had to consciously keep himself from gawking at her breasts, still looking a bit pink and bruised but oh so cute.

Naoto swallowed. She knew Kanji wouldn't be gone for more than five minutes; the bathroom was only just down the hall. But she felt ready to sleep for a thousand years, so unbelievably exhausted from it all. And while tomorrow morning was certainly a possibility, the words she was thinking would probably be long gone by then, leaving her with something sub-par to say instead.

If she was going to say anything, now was the time.

“Thank you,” she whispered, “for everything.”

And Kanji felt it reverberate in the bottom of his heart, because those four words together conveyed more than the rest of the language ever could, apart from another set of three words.

But those four are the first step. They have more than enough time to say “I love you”, even if Kanji knew it was love from the start.  

On the verge of a blissful sleep, nestled in soft blankets that smell of someone familiar, Naoto realized that love is what it had been all along.

When Kanji finally climbed into bed, Naoto was fast asleep.

Before he turned out the light, he pressed a kiss to her nose, watching with a sleepy grin as her face scrunched, somehow able to feel the press of his lips in the midst of unconsciousness.

Come tomorrow morning, as Kanji brushed his teeth, Naoto would stare at the pile of bindings at her feet, coiled up like pit vipers that could strike at any moment less she give into the insecurities.

She’d take them in hand and toss them into Kanji’s trashcan.

Going braless on the walk back home no longer seemed the unthinkable thing it would have been the day before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank italics for making up for my piss poor ability to describe things and so they're conveyed by slightly pushing words to the ground.
> 
> This is entirely unbeted so I'll probably go back and fix typos and shit sorry.
> 
> And yes, Yosuke would make Kanji watch One Guy, One Cup don't look at me.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so this was originally posted over a year and a half ago and I never finished it. Thanks college. Oh, and thanks old Asus laptop that shit the bed and took with it all of my writing.
> 
> And thanks Vaio laptop for also shitting the bed and taking with it what I had rewritten of the ending.
> 
> After much grieving for lost work, I'm finally getting around to rewriting this and finishing it.
> 
> Also I would like to take the opportunity to say please don't buy a PC or install Windows 8. I am holding the directly responsible for the deaths of my stories.


End file.
